Foaming at the Mouth
by Sassy Lil Scorpio
Summary: Insanity is far more frightening when cleverly concealed and unpredictable. A character study on Elle Driver.


**Foaming at the Mouth**

**A Kill Bill Fan-Fiction by Sassy Lil Scorpio**

**Disclaimer: **Elle Driver and all other names are the property of Quentin Tarantino. The author makes no claim of ownership. No monetary gain is being made from this work.

**Summary: **Insanity is far more frightening when cleverly concealed and unpredictable. A character study on Elle Driver.

**Rating: **T

**Author's Notes:** This writing was inspired by my impressions on Elle Driver, different fans' take on her and other characters in the KB universe, a dialogue with Adam Troy, and a website entitled _Psychopaths: The Mask of Sanity_.

**Dedication:** For Senshi Alchemist for appreciating the depth of the characters in **Kill Bill** and for Tiara for believing in me and my abilities. Thank you.

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_Foaming at the mouth_: 1. to have an illness that causes liquid and bubbles to collect around the mouth. 2. idiom. To be extremely angry; rage.

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Elle Driver was often amused by other people's perceptions of serial killers, especially socio/psychopathic ones. Most regular people—or "sheep" as she called them—had overactive imaginations when it came to killers, whether they were mass murderers, assassins, or serial killers. Most times, the "sheep" envisioned rabid red-eyed people with a constant craving for blood, a person who was robotic and reacted mechanically in response to violence that they or others caused. At worst, they pictured psychotic killers, foaming at the mouth, running after and cornering their prey, their intentions obvious and out in the open for everyone to see. Although this might have been true for some killers, it certainly wasn't true for all of them.

Especially not Elle Driver.

It might be hard to believe, but Elle laughed a lot in her life. Mostly, it was because of Bill. After Two Pines, Bill kept her awake at night. He'd make her laugh so hard that her stomach would hurt and she wouldn't be able to sleep. Bill told her tales of how he'd seen psychotherapist after psychotherapist in the past—and how he had conned them, how he made them believe that he was a changed man, how they helped him solve his problems. The best thing about seeing a psychotherapist was that they taught you to be better at conniving. Of course, they didn't set out to do this; that was never their intention. However, one could put to use their guidance in learning to empathize, connect with others, and building trusting and long-lasting relationships. It was an entire arsenal that would be beneficial to any charismatic sociopath. Your manipulative tactics were honed to such a degree that you were able to then test your new skills on the person who was there to "help" you.

_I don't want to be helped_, Bill often scoffed. _Hell, I_ _don't_ need _to be helped. There's nothing wrong with me. If anything, there's something wrong with _them_. Heh…fucking sheep._ Elle integrated Bill's thinking with her own: that "regular" or "normal" people were "sheep" to be manipulated and disposed of once their usefulness was through. Compassion and kindness were for weaklings and stupid people. Most importantly, Bill taught her that she was great the way she was. She was perfect and destined to be in this world. She deserved to be here, even if her sole purpose was to rid the world of a few extra "sheep".

The world was overpopulated, anyway.

Elle did a lot of research on the Internet. When she wasn't fooling around in bed with Bill, she was at his laptop, researching info on sociopaths, psychopaths, and serial killers. She found that many serial killers, including she and Bill, had tragic pasts. Nearly all of them had a history of child abuse and/or neglect, abandonment, substance abuse, poor peer relations, animal cruelty, juvenile delinquency, and so on. The most intriguing thing was that not all children raised in dysfunctional households grew up to become abusive and manipulative to those around them—or at worse, physically violent.

Only a small percentage did.

In that respect, Elle considered herself to be one of the lucky ones. She often heard about Bill's youth. He had grown up in Acuna Mexico and ran with the Acuna Boys. His mother was a prostitute working for his father figure, Esteban Vihaio, a crime-lord and pimp (or "ladies' gentleman" as Esteban fondly called himself). Bill had learned at an early age that women were commodities to be brought, sold, and used however he liked, that violence was an acceptable way to solve (and sometimes end) problems, and that the more power you lorded over other human beings, the better. Power equaled respect and respect equaled fear. It was a sound equation on which he would later build his reputation as leader of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad.

Bill brought up his childhood and youth only a handful of times. Elle figured he had shared most of that tripe with Beatrix. She was surprised that Bill opened up to her, even if it was on a tiny scale. The times when Bill shared his past were far and few, and whenever he did, it made Elle think of her past. Like Bill, she had no inkling of who her real biological father was. Her mother had always been between jobs and never showed an interest in Elle's schooling because in her words, "_I have more important things to worry about._" Cocaine and alcohol were her mother's constant companions and Elle often felt the brunt of her emotional pain: be it a punch in the face or her hair pulled out by the roots. Elle knew she'd never be like her mother. She would never be a victim, blaming other people for her problems. She'd have power and be in control of her life. One would think this would inspire Elle to do greater things in her life. In fact, it did the opposite.

Elle ran with street gangs to have some semblance of "family" and for protection. She engaged in countless illegal activities: selling drugs and stolen goods, shoot-outs, and much more. She was tempting the law, daring the police to pursue her. It wasn't long before she was arrested and locked up in juvenile detention. At first, it was for small things: menacing, petty larceny, and criminal mischief. Soon, the crimes became more serious: grand theft auto, robbery, and finally, assault with a deadly weapon. After juvenile detention, she was shipped to various residential treatment centers where the courts decided that trained professionals would manage and modify her deviant behavior. This might have yielded results except for one thing—Elle always managed to manipulate and defy staff and run away. When she was finally caught, she was remanded back to a secure juvenile facility where she was released at age eighteen. Her mother was no longer in the picture, and over the years that forged her adult personality, she had learned to depend on her wits, rely on her gut instincts, and use manipulative tactics to survive. By then, Elle signed herself out of the system and was on her own.

As an adult, looking back on her troubled youth, Elle never really felt bad. She didn't feel guilty, or sad, or regretful. In fact, the only emotions she actually felt were intense anger, jealousy, or sexual attraction for powerful men—like Bill. She didn't know what it was that set her apart from others when she was younger. After awhile, she came to realize that the wide range of emotions and conscience felt by others weren't present in her own psychological make-up. Instead, it was a glaring black hole in her psyche. It wasn't like she woke up one day and never felt anything—it had always been like this, the vast emptiness. The only way to make some of the emptiness disappear was to keep up her smoking habit…or kill "sheep". It gave her a temporary high, even if it wasn't real or permanent. When she felt any emotion—be it happiness, sadness, guilt, embarrassment…she only felt it on the surface, but never in her inner-being. She could feel her face contort to put on the mask of elation, depression, shame, and loss, but she never felt those emotions tugging at her heart. They simply did not exist in her mind and soul.

Sometimes Elle wondered if she even had a soul.

She knew she didn't though, especially at Two Pines. By then, she was content with this fact of herself. Two Pines was probably the second time she felt genuinely excited. The first time was when she was successful on her first assignment for Bill. _You're a natural, Elle._ A sincere compliment coming from Bill was a rarity and she always held it close to her heart. After the first kill, the rest became routine. This was not to say that Elle didn't enjoy killing—she did. Killing was an art to her and in order for her to be "true artist" she had to make sure her victim died the right way at her hands—whether it was through painful poison, a firearm, hand-to-hand combat, or an edged weapon. She instinctively knew whether to draw out a long painful death or to make it swift and to the point. It all depended on the victim, the target. And if it was someone she knew and despised—like the Black Mamba—then Elle was pumped up, ready to have a blast.

Murder's true beauty and irresistible appeal came when you destroyed your worst enemy.

At Two Pines, she stood over Beatrix Kiddo, grinning widely, finally triumphant over her hated rival. She remembered the thunderous gunshot from Bill's Colt .45. On that day, Vernita Green had looked at Elle just before Bill pulled the trigger. She had seen the confusion and denial in Vernita's eyes and to Elle, this made Copperhead a fake, a wannabe assassin—not a natural born killer. If Vernita Green was a true killer, then she would've relished the sight of a beaten and bruised pregnant woman laying flat on her back, gray matter and skull fragments scattered by her bloodied head.

Two Pines was an extraordinary occasion for California Mountain Snake. She was open with her insanity as she loved delving into it. She made Beatrix experience her vicious side, allowed Bill and Sofie Fatale to approve and observe it respectively, and left it for the other Vipers to admire (or admonish, in Vernita's case). Elle soaked it up that day because being outwardly hostile wasn't her usual modus operandi.

Life experiences taught Elle that it was best to stay quiet. Play it cool. Bill had taught her very well: take what others think of you and turn it against them. If someone thinks you're a psycho, give them the exact opposite: calm and collected. Wear the mask of sanity until it's no longer a mask, but who you truly are to the unknowing victim. Numb your victim's instincts so they don't suspect anything.

It was also a matter of self-preservation. Outward hostility got her into heaps of trouble. Pai Mei had plucked out her eyeball after she called him a "miserable old fool". So when it was time to return the favor and kill him, she made sure to cover up her true intentions. In an effort to make peace with her master, she had cooked him fish-heads for dinner. They had many arguments prior to that fateful day and Elle wanted to show him that she was capable of kindness and demonstrating respect to her superior. What she didn't say was that she had mixed a powerful poison in the meal. By the time Pai Mei figured it out, it was too late and he clutched at his throat, desperate and panicking in his last moments. Elle thought it was hilarious, comedy with a morbid twist.

After that eye-plucking incident, Elle toned down since she knew being silent and patient helped her achieve her goals. Two Pines was a confirmation of this, after Bill explained to the Vipers how he wooed Beatrix into believing that he supported her decision to marry a stranger. Bill had used his cunning tactics to the fullest degree on Beatrix, and Elle, the eager pupil, put his teaching to practice.

She had visited Beatrix in the hospital after Two Pines. Dressing up as a nurse, she had gone to Beatrix's unit. The ultimate thrill for Elle was when she stood over her rival, who lay in a deep coma. It meant she could kill her in her sleep without having to deal with stupid Kiddo putting up a fight. Bill called her up unexpectedly and stopped her. Elle's infamous temper flared—the very temper she had strived to contain—until Bill calmed her down, soothing her furious protests with his steel voice. After that, Elle was honey sweet—she had to be, since Bill told her he loved her. It didn't matter to Elle if his words were true or not. What mattered to her was that the woman she hated (and respected most) lay in a coma at her mercy and the man she had desired for so long said "_I love you_" to her. What mattered was that she was going to have hot passionate sex with the only man she had ever loved—and that's "loved" in the loosest sense of the word. Bill was the only man, the only person in her entire life, that Elle felt sincere warm emotions for, even if her emotions were nearly non-existent, or at most, shallow.

Lastly, there was Budd—a man she hated almost as much as Beatrix. When she brought the money-filled luggage for Budd, she allowed him to drone on about regret and retirement and which R was she most filled with. Elle couldn't care less, since she knew that within the hour, Budd would be dead. Besides, she'd answer his question in a few minutes. His speech helped her to outline his demise in her mind, so that she anticipated it. She kept herself calm and quiet, chewing on her ice and allowing Budd to enjoy what he thought was his fortune. When she heard the distinct hissing from where Budd sat, she knew he had discovered the black mamba in the luggage. The best part was that she got to witness his slow and painful death: his face contorting, his moans of agonizing pain, and the last few minutes of his life as it ticked by. And all because she had gone with the flow and blended in until it was the right time to attack.

By the time she finished telling Bill that Beatrix put a black mamba in Budd's camper, she was ready to leave and move on. Just as she had done on numerous assignments for Bill: kill and move on. Before kicking the door to Budd's trailer open, she was confident and secure about one undisputable fact about herself, and she knew if she had to live her life again, that she wouldn't have it any other way:

Elle Driver a.k.a. California Mountain Snake was a natural born killer.

**The End**


End file.
